Take Me as I Am
Chapter 12
[Hugs, Fever and Nightmares]

There was something about this one little lady that makes him—well, uncomfortable. Maybe uncomfortable is too strong a word to describe this odd sensation. Uneasy, yeah that's more like it. Beth, with her clumsy attack stances and her sparkling smile, she made him feel uneasy… different… fierce even. Because of her, he had a reason to live. Because of her, he somehow was able to deal with plunging a knife into his brother's head. He didn't realize just how fiercely he wanted to keep her from harm until now.

When he limped down those stairs of the home, all he could think about was his failure. If she had turned, or even died, it was his own damn fault because he was too weak to protect her. Hell, if he told Beth that, she would most likely give him one of her upset frowns and scold him with her eyes.

That's what he loved—liked most about her. She didn't give a damn that he could've left her to her own devices; she spoke what was on her mind and about how she felt of the whole shitty situation they were in. That's more than he can say about the others.

Beth shifted in his arms, most of her weight suddenly pushed against him. If he didn't know any better, he would say she was trying to seduce him—but he wasn't a horny little teenager who just found out about sex and masturbation. Something was wrong.

"Beth, you okay there?" Daryl pulled back to catch a glimpse of her face—he couldn't see much with her hair shielding her face like a curtain. He bit back a hiss of pain as he shifted her weight onto one side, freeing one of his arms. He brushed aside the messy curtain of hair, instantly alarmed of her current state. Her face was flushed bright red with beads of sweat dotting her forehead. He pressed his cheek against her forehead, and he'll be damned—it was hot enough to melt an iceberg in seconds.

Daryl frowned, devastatingly upset at her for carrying on the run without him. He was elated just seconds ago to find out she didn't die on the run and yet now, here she is, in his arms burning a high fever. He shook her gently in his arms and waited for a response. No luck.

Muttering curses under his breath, he tucked Beth closer to his body with an arm around her waist, and tossed one of her arms over his shoulders so he could carry her. It was the less effective way to go, but there was no telling how he'll hurt her if he carried her in his arms with his injuries. Tentatively, he pulled the heavy backpack by its woven handle and closed the car door shut with a gentle click. He figured the last thing they needed now was a herd of walkers hearing him slam the metal door shut.

Gradually, he guided her up the porch stairs and into the home. It smelled like rotting corpses in the hall—surely from the walkers he had killed the week before. He made a mental note to remove those bodies later on. He eased the front door shut behind him with a foot before dropping the backpack onto the floor. He shifted Beth until he was in front of her, pulled her arms over his shoulders and hoisted her up on his back. Much like the way he carried her when they first came across the graveyard.

It was times like these where he wished he was Superman—or even Spiderman with his spidey skills. He'd wrap her up in a web and drag her up the stairs in a soft web cocoon. Unreasonable, yes. Only because he was in no shape to carry a grown woman up the stairs on his back. He laughed at the irony of it all—Beth going out on a run to save his ass only to have him carry her up the stairs in return. Still, even then, he was mighty happy he wasn't going to be alone.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was drenched in sweat and felt lightheaded. His left side started to burn like shit too. He made his way into the bedroom he woke up on and eased her onto the bed. She fell onto it like a ragdoll, listlessly. He slipped the pillow under her head and lifted her legs onto the bed before making his way back down the stairs.

Daryl made sure to tie the sound alarm back onto the pillar with a sturdy knot before grabbing the backpack and made his way back to Beth. Setting the backpack onto the floor beside the bed, he slumped onto the floor with a pained groan and began shifting through the contents.

His mouth watered when he saw the Campbell's soup. "What the hell?" It felt as if it was too good to be true. He hadn't had one of those since before shit hit the fan over two years ago. An odd sensation settled in his chest—Beth had found all these supplies on her own. It satisfied him that she was able to scavenge without him. Then again, it felt kind of shitty too. Maybe she really didn't need him to protect her anymore.

Bullshit, she needs me—he told himself. The soup can and a bottle of water was placed onto the nightstand beside the bed. They would have to make do until he was well enough to go hunt or go on a run. Then he saw them, the two huge bottles of over the counter painkillers.

He was speechless to say the least. He exchanged glances between Beth's slumbering face and the bottles of meds in his hands and let out an impressed scoff, "You're one of a kind, you know that Beth?" He unscrewed the lid and tossed a couple in his mouth.

"Thank you."

Daryl turned his head sharply at the sound of her voice, nearly choking on the pills that almost lodged in his throat. He coughed, pounded his chest before snatching the bottle of water from the nightstand and took a swig of the sweet tasting pure liquid. "What the hell? You're awake?"

Beth gave him a weak smile and a nod, "Yeah… didn't realize I passed out." She began to shift to a seating position on the bed until Daryl stopped her by placing his hand on her arm.

"You have a fever—take these and sleep," he ordered curtly, pouring out two generic Tylenol pills and offered it to Beth.

She shook her head, "I took some earlier… I'll be okay."

Daryl scowled, not satisfied with her answer. "You still have a fever after taking these?"

She shrugged in return, offering him no response but a soft sigh as she fell back onto the bed, exhausted. After a long pause, her soft voice broke the growing tension in the room. "I think I was driving for fifteen minutes or so… they probably didn't kick in yet," she offered. "The small town near here has a pharmacy… I found a map in the drawer over there."

"So you decided to go out on your own, with a hurt ankle like an idiot? You could'a died," his grip on her forearm unintentionally tightened at the thought of her brave yet stupid decision.

Beth immediately cringed and pulled her arm back with a hiss, "Ouch." She cradled her arm closer to her body.

Daryl immediate shifted into a kneeling position and grabbed her injured arm in his hands. It was then when he noticed the desolate state of her clothes—her grey sweater tore at that sleeve, buttons missing, the brown button up shirt bloodied and crumpled. She must've had a hard time on the run alone. "Are you bit?"

Concern grew when she yanked her arm away from him and pulled herself up the bed and closer towards the headboard. He saw conflict bubbling in her blue depths, and then he suddenly feared the worse. "Did you get bit?" He asked again, this time his voice hard and graveled.

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, still not willing to answer him. Having had enough of her silence, Daryl pulled her arm roughly and yanked the brown shirt sleeve up her arm to reveal the skin underneath.

He slumped back onto the floor, his rump sitting over his heels at the sight before him. Unmistakably, there was a bite mark on her arm—angry red and inflamed. "Beth?" His voice waivered under his uncertainty—he didn't know what to do. The idea of having to put a knife into her pretty head grew increasingly realistic… he didn't know if he could do it. His chest constricted painfully, his breathing grew labored, the palms of his hands grew sweaty and numb.

"I was bit… yes," she began, her lively eyes peering deeply into his. "Not by walkers," she finally supplied after holding his gaze prisoner for the longest minute.

It sickened him that the first words out of his mouth were asking if she was telling the truth or not. It had slipped out before he registered the implication of his words.

"I'm not lying, Daryl. Don't you trust me?" No sooner did she challenge his trust in her, she pulled her arm away and stared at the curtain covered window—her jaw tense, eyes betrayed her hurt emotion. "After all this… you don't trust me, do you?"

At some point, Daryl felt his heart break a little. He wasn't one for roses and poetry, yeah he had trust issues. But he'll be damned if he started to distrust her too—after all, he had been asking her to trust him completely… almost blindly. He didn't answer her as he grabbed the bottle of peroxide and some bandages, and then settled on the edge of the bed. She resisted when he started to pull her arm onto his lap, but he was just as stubborn as she was. Needless to say, she lost the battle of wills.

He studied the angry teeth marks marring her smooth skin—it didn't look like a walker's bite. His hand held onto her elbow while his other poured the peroxide over the wound. He heard her muffling her cry of surprise and pain, but he didn't look at her. He made short work on cleaning and bandaging it, when finally done with the task, he rested his loosely above hers. He marveled at how slender and pale her fingers were as their fingers intertwined into an embrace.

Someone that was so small, fragile had to wake up immediately after witnessing the death of her father. That said someone managed to find medicine and food with an injured ankle. Although he knew she was no longer a helpless child, it didn't honestly hit home until now.

"You owe me an apology."

Daryl smirked at her comment, "Smart ass." He heard her scoff—sounding a bit amused. Then he turned to her, his left hand still entwined with her right. His free hand reached up to brush the side of her face, forcing her to turn to face him. When she did, he felt like the biggest ass in the world when he saw the pain in her eyes.

Daryl Dixon hardly apologizes, and when he does… the process is difficult but he sure as hell meant it. "Sorry," he managed to blurt out rather gruffly. He inwardly grimaced at his tone, turning his head away and dropping his hand from her face and released his hand from her hand.

She didn't say a word then, if she smiled—he wouldn't have known. He didn't want her to see the embarrassment in his face. Before he knew it, Beth shifted on the bed and turned away from him. He casted a glance over her frame from the corners of his eyes after a few minutes of silence, to find her sleeping soundly.

Not wanting to disturb her, nor feeling he could be in the same room with her at the moment, he stalked out of the room, ready to put his increasing energy in doing something that will occupy his time and brain.

-0-

Night was beginning to fall on him as he dragged in the last three fallen tree limbs into the hall of the home. Daryl spent the last few hours scouting the forest around the home. Despite his serious injuries, he felt as if he needed to get some fresh air. He didn't want to do any strenuous labor but the moment he saw large limbs on the forest ground, an idea dawned on him.

If they were to spend some time in this home, it had to be protected. He seen this once, sharpening long tree limbs into spears and drive them into the ground at angles between 45 to 55 degrees to impale walkers and hold them at bay. It was certainly a great idea. Such a shame he didn't think of it himself.

At least that way, he and Beth stood a chance at surviving large herds that may pass through this way. He had gathered roughly fifteen to twenty limbs ranging from four feet long to six. Most of them were the shorter length. Some of them he had to break from the trees—they were barren anyway.

The night air was chilly, signaling the impending wave of winter that will sweep through the forest. The faster they were able to secure the home, the better. He secured the sound trap after he was done and shut the door to the home. He wasn't at the strength to remove the decaying corpses from the basement just yet—despite how much he hated the smell of death.

A sudden cry from Beth upstairs startled him into action. He sprinted up the stairs without hesitating, his knife drawn and ready to attack, "Beth!"

Daryl barged in through the bedroom door, his eyes darted about to find an intruder who dared to hurt her. In the dying light streaming through the windows, he saw Beth cringing on the bed, alone. Startled cries echoed in the room, Daryl quickly sheathed his knife, relieved. Beth was having a nightmare again.

He made his way over to her. He heard soft pleas of 'no' and 'please' passing through her lips—he didn't have to wonder what her nightmare was about. Bile bubbled up his throat at the thought her reliving the memories of what had happened just a few days ago. It was a constant reminder that had he been just a second later, she would've been violated in the most evil of ways.

"Beth, hey…" he shook her shoulders lightly. He wasn't prepared when she began clawing at him with her hands, still engulfed in her nightmare. "Ow! Jeez, dam't Beth!" he hissed when a hand scratched his sensitive ear. He shook her again, harder. "Beth!"

"No! No!" Large tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, her head thrashed from side to side in agony.

Daryl cursed under his breath, unable and unwilling to be her scratching post any longer; he pulled her up and tucked her in his arms. She still thrashed but this time, his large arms encircled just under her shoulders, preventing her from abusing him with her nails any more. He sighed a breath of relief when her arms stilled but her breathing was labored.

He heard her sniffling; her previously aggressive hands gripped at his waist then snaked up his back, pressing her trembling body closer to his. "You okay?" his voice thick, laced with concern. It was one of those, no-you-idiot questions that didn't need to be asked. It just slipped out of habit.

She didn't answer him with words but with a nod of her head instead.

He would've held her in his arms forever if he could—his injured abdomen began to ache and he was forced to release her. "You should sleep," it was a pathetic suggestion seeing how she just relieved a memory in her nightmare. He just didn't know what to say to her.

For the longest moment, she didn't answer him. She simply held onto his waist, silently and still trembling softly.

"Will you sleep with me?" her innocent question sent shivers up his spine.

Daryl stuttered, released his grip on her as if her touch burned him. "What?" Images of a heated, panting Beth with her hair sprawled out behind her on the soft bed flashed through his eyes. He cleared his throat and turned his head away from her abruptly, despite that fact that night has descended over them and darkness engulfed the room.

"I don't want to be alone… I … I can't do it. Will you lay down with me?" she rephrased her question, unfazed. She sniffled again, waiting for an answer—the lump in his throat rendered him mute.

"… Never mind. I'm okay," she whispered before releasing his waist and moved to lay back down on the bed.

Daryl chewed at the tip of his thumb, his other arm tucked around his chest. He wasn't a damn teenager—he shouldn't be having thoughts like that when she needed comfort. Not sex. He'll be damned if he let his man-urges get the best of him—not when she needed him. With a defeated sigh, Daryl settled into the bed, dangerously close from falling off the bed.

Once he laid his head on the pillow and adjusted in a more comfortable position, he felt Beth stir beside him.

"Daryl?" her soft voice called out to him.

"I'm here," was his gruff reply.

The bed shifted on her side, in the darkness he made out her blonde hair swaying with her actions. He felt soft skin press against his left shoulder, warm breath heating the side of his chest and underarm—sending shivers up his spine, exciting his little friend. He chewed on his bottom lip, wondering if this was a horribly bad idea.

A content sigh slipped from her lips and he felt her cheek move as she smiled. "Thank you…"

His initial thought was, 'You shouldn't be thanking me just yet girl.' Then he mentally scolded himself as soon as that thought popped up. He scoffed, amused at how his body reacted to her. It almost felt right—perfect. He knew differently though. He was nearly twice her age, he had no business touching her that way.

He felt her soft hands entwine themselves in his larger hand closest to her, pulling her body closer to his until his arm brushed against the top of the soft mounds of her breasts.

Fuck. If she wasn't Beth, he would assume that this woman is trying to seduce him. Then he would shove her off and call her a whore—or fuck her in an alleyway or bathroom stall. He had done that before. He is a man, with manly urges after all. That was the issue though. This little lady most precisely is Beth. Sweet, innocent Beth—who knows there is good in the world despite all the shit that had happened to her.

He sighed and his thoughts drifted to the future months to come. Would he be able to survive knowing that he was a man and she was a woman— a beautiful, sweet girl with eyes as bright as the clear summer sky and curves that he hadn't noticed before.

Ugh. This was going to be a very, very long night.

/

J.R.- Hmmm no lemons just yet. They haven't even shared their first kiss! Maybe they will kiss soon… maybe not! Who knows? :P

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